Chapter 6 Mikail #2
“Wait until Enzo is back,” I offer, fisting the napkin at my side. It crumbles under the pressure, just like my control.
She pins me with a hard gaze. “I don’t need my brother’s permission,” she mumbles, finishing up her breakfast.
Oh, when the brat comes out.
I inhale a deep breath, trying to gather my composure. “I’m in charge until he comes back.”
Standing up, she hooks her hands on her waist, raising a perfectly elegant brow at me. “Are you saying no to me?”
It’s the hurt in her voice she tries to mask that breaks me, and I give in. “I’ll choose it.”
“Really?” Her face radiates with a beam that blinds my common sense, obliterating any reason.
She sprints to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Even though I didn’t need your permission.”
But she still craves it. Fuck if that thought doesn’t derail my thoughts into forbidden territory. Nothing new.
The knowing glance, accompanied by a smug smile, only intensifies my belief that she knows it too.
Fuck me. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I place my palm on her back, and we walk outside to my car.
Why delay the inevitable?
As soon as she buckles herself in, she asks, “Can I have one like this?”
“No.”
She slumps in on herself, mumbling. “Fine. Ugh.”
“We’ll find a reliable, comfortable one,” I say, giving up on searching for any trace of sanity left.
She rolls her eyes at me. “You mean one that isn’t fun at all.”
I chuckle. “Take it or leave it, baby girl.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts, staring out the window. “You’re no fun.”
I drag a hand down my face, calling for patience. “I’m not supposed to be fun when my job is to keep you safe.”
She sulks the entire way to the car dealership.
Once I park, she’s about to hop out when I plant my hand on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. “I’m not doing this to be difficult.”
She gives me one of those understanding smiles. “I know.”
I jerk my chin toward the shop. “Good. Let’s find you a car.”
I steer her toward the SUVs; she urges me to the sports cars.
Two hours later, and we have clashed five times already.
Nostrils flaring, I pinch the bridge of my nose, urging for calmness that has eluded me.
Behind a Ferrari’s wheel that has more horsepower than it should be legal, she grins at me and then tells the salesperson, “We’ll take it.”
“We won’t take it,” I rectify.
He shifts his head from me to her like he’s engaged in an Olympic game of ping-pong, not wanting to lose the winning moment.
Dahlia looks me dead in the eye. “I want this car.”
“Sorry, baby girl. You don’t always get what you want,” I grit out.
“Don’t I fucking know it,” she huffs.
I rake a hand through my hair hard enough to pull some strands, snapping. “Stop cursing.”
“Stop telling me what to do.” She snaps back.
A heart attack might happen sooner than expected.
She shuts the door of the Ferrari hard making the salesperson flinch.
From the corner of my eye, I see the Silver Porsche Carrera she has stealthily glanced at. Her attempts at manipulating me are cute as fuck. It’s a sports car, but at least it has less horsepower. I give in, programmed to make this woman happy.
Before I can suggest we take the Porsche, she storms outside, and I tell the salesman to get the car ready. Then I rush out to find her climbing into my car.
Seeing her upset wrecks me. I would buy her whatever she wants just to make it stop.
I’d endure fucking hell for eternity, but a few minutes of her silence shatter me like nothing else.
Hoping to ease her mood, I bring her to an ice cream parlor.
“You know it’s impossible to guarantee my safety 24/7,” she says, ending my torment.
“Try me.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “For that you’d need to be glued to my side,” she says, licking the ice cream cone and batting her lashes at me.
I have seen her eat ice cream, but this is something else, driving me wild.
The vixen does it on purpose to provoke me.
She rolls her tongue up before swirling the tip at the top, never breaking eye contact.
I am one second away from giving her something else to lick.
Let’s see how she likes it when I have her choking on my cock.
I shift in the seat, inconspicuously adjusting my slacks.
I stare up at the sky, hoping for a sunstroke. Anything to make the torture better.
“Your ice cream is melting.” She points at my vanilla cone and takes a bite of mine too. Licking her lips, she moans. That sound stirs my cock even more, weeping pre-cum in my pants. I am so fucking hard it’s painful, desperately craving a release. I am battling an honorable but losing fight.
Has she ever been innocent, or did I imagine that to stay away? I swear I don’t know anymore. Cracking my neck, I call for control when I am one second away from ripping my zipper. She won’t test me with a mouthful of cock.
Vanilla ice cream rests in the corner of her mouth, and without thinking, I swipe it away, bringing the thumb to my mouth. From her lips, it tastes spectacular.
Her eyes widen, and a flush covers her cheeks.
“And you think you can take someone like me?” The words rush out of me, and instead of a shy look, a challenge sparks in her gaze.
She bends over the table as if she wants to tell me a secret. “I’m willing to bet that I most definitely can.”
My attempt at scaring her backfired.
Satisfied with my lack of reaction and speech, she continues to eat her strawberry ice cream with even more gusto, humming, so proud of herself.
By the time she’s done eating her ice cream, I almost come too.
I doubt celibacy will work out in the long run. Her presence threatens that a bit more every day. There’s no solution to fix my dilemma. She’s the only woman I want. There could never be another one.
On the way back, I think about when she’ll see her surprise, it will only encourage her to behave like a brat. I am screwed either way.
I can’t give her what she truly wants, what I truly want. I can compensate with material things that mean nothing but still put a smile on her face.
The car is also a display of her gaining more independence. I would rather unload a gun into my body than stop her from spreading her wings.
And maybe one day, this damn car will take her away from me and to someone else. At that thought, an ache spreads through my insides, and I rub at my chest, willing to make the heartache stop.
“Mika?” she asks, worry lacing her voice, attuned to me. Her concern undoes me.
A ripple of agony vibrates in my throat. “You’ll leave me one day.”
She palms my arm resting on the center console. “Then don’t make me. I want nothing more than to stay.” She shrugs as the solution is that easy.
But we’re both aware that the time when we were content with less is gone.
A typhoon is brewing above our heads, and I am certain desire will eradicate the foundation—not satisfied until it uproots everything and leaves only debris behind.
Driving down the driveway toward the main mansion, she notices the silver Porsche with a big red bow.
As I park, she whips her head to me before she runs out, squealing.
“This is the one I wanted.”
I know, baby girl.
I fucking know.